


Wasteland, Baby!

by MadameRed



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Anal Fingering, Blood, Deepthroating, Facial, Kinktober 2018, Knifeplay, M/M, Rim job, ass worship, more tags to come
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-06
Updated: 2018-10-11
Packaged: 2019-07-27 07:33:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16214414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadameRed/pseuds/MadameRed
Summary: When Deacon finally manages to convince MacCready that yes, he really does like him and wants some of his afternoon delight at any hour of the day, they get it on. And on. And on, and on. Because whether they realize it or not, they're two of the Commonwealth's most powerful men, and when they come together, in any interpretation of that phrase, it's a thunderous and wild thing. It's also rare and beautiful, but they haven't figured that out yet.





	1. my head is haunting me

**Author's Note:**

> Who am I kidding, half of Hozier's music is inspiring this shit.
> 
> Macdeacon is my jam, fite me. I couldn't decide which one I loved more so I said, why not ship them together? It's been working out well so far. I'm way behind on the Kinktober prompts, because I have a life, but I fully intend on finishing them up. Enjoy, you kinky bastards!
> 
> Kinktober Day 1: **Deep-Throating** | Inflation | Face-Sitting | Masks

It had started, as most things do, with Deacon’s incessant chatter. He and MacCready had been dispatched by Nora to assist Sunshine Tidings with a small raider group. They were farmers, and while Nora was in the process of having them train with the Minutemen so they could better defend themselves, it was slow goings. The raiders harassing them probably weren’t even a dozen strong, but they had more than just pipe pistols and tire irons, and the settlers were afraid. Nora and Piper were further east, heading out toward the Slog, and she’d asked MacCready to take Deacon and clear up their issue. 

This wasn’t what had started it, though; MacCready often got on fairly well with Deacon. He could appreciate the spy’s pranks and sense of humour and usefulness in a firefight. Of course, they both worked best at a distance from their enemies, but Deacon was sneaky enough to go in closer without being detected while MacCready covered him from a distance. They worked well together, even though Deacon’s often subliminal speech grated on his nerves. That, and the fact that he never - shut - up.

They’d dealt with the raiders without so much as a scratch on either of them. They were ill organized, and one frag grenade drew every last one of them out of the shitty little shacks they’d holed up in. Deacon hid in a bush and picked them off with a silenced .45, while MacCready clipped any off that got too close to him from his vantage point on a hill. When the last raider fell some thirty feet from where he’d been charging at Deacon’s cover, the spy popped up from behind the bush, waving his pistol and grinning. 

“Pistols at Night wins again!” he shouted gleefully. MacCready shook his head, jogging down the hill to begin rifling through their pockets.

“That’s lame, come up with something better,” MacCready told him. Deacon pouted.

“Well we can’t be the Death Bunnies, that’s me ‘n Fixer,” he said. “What about…” he paused to think, then snapped his fingers. “Holey Moley Rats!” He paused again for effect, grinning at MacCready, who was wholly unamused. “No? What about Two Fine Ass-ets?”

MacCready choked, falling forward from his crouch and kneeling on the still warm chest of a raider. Deacon cackled somewhere to the left of him, gleefully shoving a raider over onto their back and bending down to dig through their pack. They made quick work of the raiders outside, and then moved into the shack, pistols drawn. It was clear, and not entirely disgusting, which said that the raiders hadn’t been there for very long at all. MacCready knelt down at a tall chest in the corner and shoved his duster to the side, fishing in his pockets for a bobby pin.

“How about Mac Daddy’s Dream Team?” Deacon murmured into his ear suddenly, causing him to drop the bobby pin and bang his knee on the chest. MacCready whipped around and glared at Deacon, who was smirking down at him. Mac felt his cheeks heat up and stood abruptly, shoving another bobby pin at Deacon. 

“You pick this, and maybe a better name, or it’ll just be the RJ Show,” he grumbled, stomping off to investigate a few ammo canisters across the room. 

“Ooh, a solo act?” Deacon asked. “Do I get a strip tease? Is it that kind of show? Can it be that kind of show?”

MacCready clenched his jaw, digging out a stash of .308′s and fusion cells from the canister. Deacon had been doing this for a few months now, teasing him incessantly, most of it racy and getting racier as time wore on. Winking at him, a lingering hand on his shoulder, brushing past him in the wide streets of Sanctuary. It would have been obvious if it had been coming from anyone else, but Deacon, master of lies and stabs in the dark? It was just unnecessary, and reminded Mac that he hadn’t been held or touched or fucking  _appreciated_  in four goddamn years. The fact that the Railroad agent was startlingly attractive and the object of many of MacCready’s explicitly dirty dreams didn’t really help either. Mac clicked the case of the canister shut and exhaled through his nose.

“You don’t have to tease me about this crap, Deacon. You can just pick a normal name, yanno,” he snapped without turning around. There was silence in the room for a moment, and MacCready turned around, half expecting Deacon to not even be there anymore. But the spy was staring at him, holding a worn fedora he’d fished out of the trunk he’d teased open. Mac couldn’t see his eyes, but his mouth was tugged down in a little frown.

“What if I wasn’t messing with you?” Deacon asked. His voice was low and serious, and MacCready narrowed his eyes at him. 

“What the heck are you talking about, man? Always talking about my ass and my arms, all the flirting, asking for a freakin’ strip tease? I can do without being reminded that I’m a kid and a freakin’ joke to you,” MacCready said sharply, crossing his arms. Deacon’s eyebrows raised above the tops of his sunglasses, and he tossed the hat onto the floor. “I like working with you and we help Nora a lot but if all you’re gonna to is  _mock_  me -”

“Mocking you?” Deacon asked tartly. “I’m not  _mocking_  you, MacCready, I  _want_  you.” MacCready’s brow remained furrowed, and he blinked at Deacon, who crossed his arms. “I talk about your ass because it’s a  _nice ass_ , you ninny. What? What’s with the poop face?” MacCready’s scowl hadn’t left his face, and his hands balled into fists at his side.

“Did Nora tell you?” he hissed. Deacon crossed his arms.

“Nora tells me  _loads_  of things, compadre. She tells me to get down, she tells me to hide behind that building,  _no Deacon put the fat man away!_ ,” he babbled, imitating Nora’s high voice. MacCready crossed the room in two long strides, poking Deacon hard in his chest. He didn’t know if he wanted to punch him or kiss him, but the former was currently winning, if the trembling in his fists was any indication.

“Cut the crap, Deacon,” he ordered, pitching his voice low, like he’d done after puberty in Little Lamplight when the younger kids were getting shitty. “Did Nora tell you about - about me and… me and you.” He stammered a little, but didn’t really care if he looked like a fool, Deacon was already doing a fine job of that, so he didn’t really have much to lose, but he prided himself on keeping his face schooled into hard irritation instead of the hurt and embarrassment he felt.

Deacon sat back on the trunk, crossing his legs daintily and placing his folded hands on his knees. “Nora didn’t tell me anything, Mac, but you seem like you have a lot of really interesting, valuable information that the Railroad could use.” MacCready’s eyes nearly bulged out of his head, his lip curling in a little snarl. Deacon smirked. “And by the Railroad, I mean me. I  _am_  the Railroad.” 

MacCready rolled his eyes, stepping back from Deacon and firmly fixing his gaze on the wall to his right. He startled and nearly fell forward when one of Deacon’s feet hooked around the back of his thigh and dragged him forward again. His hands flew out and one landed on Deacon’s thigh while the other slapped against the surface of the trunk. MacCready’s face was inches from Deacon’s, and he was pretty sure he managed to look shocked and irritated all at once. 

“I’m not fuckin’ with you, Mac. I think you’re hot and I wanna do fun things with your naughty bits, and let you do fun things with  _my_  naughty bits, too, if you think I’m as cute as I think you think I am,” Deacon said, his tone sincere even as his lips quirked up in a smirk. “Everyone around us is getting some, and I’m a jealous boy.” MacCready stared at the older man, eyes wide and lips parted as Deacon’s words soaked into his head. He watched as Deacon slowly cocked an eyebrow, watched as his pink tongue ran along the seam of his lips.

“Oh my god, are you serious?” MacCready breathed. He couldn’t see, but he  _knew_  Deacon was rolling his eyes behind his shades.

“You’re cute when the penny drops, but you could step it up and make me have to borrow your scarf to hide my neck’s dignity later, any time now,” he suggested, subtly tilting his head to the side. MacCready blinked owlishly at him, glanced down at the smooth, pale column of Deacon’s neck, and he really did want to sink his teeth into it, sooth away the sting with his tongue and lips. But Deacon’s mouth was still smirking, and fuck, but MacCready hadn’t felt another’s lips on his in so,  _so_  long. Not since the brief point after he’d come to the Commonwealth where he ran with the Gunners and tore through lovers in an effort to drown out the memory of Lucy. 

So he leaned forward, blue eyes locked right onto the sunglasses, and pressed his lips against Deacon’s. The spy’s eyebrows shot up, and Mac guessed he hadn’t been expecting a kiss on the lips, but  _god_  it felt good. Deacon’s lips were thin and chapped and dry, but he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t been thinking about shutting him up like this for months now. MacCready tilted his head, cupped Deacon’s cheek with one hand, and leaned into the kiss. Deacon finally reacted, making a happy little noise and pressing up into the kiss, one hand grasping MacCready’s wrist and the other coming to rest on a narrow hip. 

“Mmm, so can we revisit Two Fine Ass-ets?” Deacon mumbled against the kiss. MacCready rolled his eyes and broke the kiss, scowling at Deacon.

“Do you  _ever_  shut up?” he asked, only mildly irritated. Deacon leaned back in to nibble at MacCready’s lower lip, his smirk back in place. 

“On occasion, but you have to  _make me_ ,” he murmured huskily. His tone sent a bolt of pleasure down MacCready’s back, and he pulled back to fix Deacon with a heavy, piercing gaze. 

“Is that an invitation?” he asked, his voice low and throaty. He watched a shiver run through Deacon and he smirked, leaning back in to brush his nose against the soft flesh under his ear. 

“More of a challenge, but consent is super sexy too,” Deacon all but gasped, his hips jolting forward against MacCready’s. The sniper was pleased to find Deacon growing hard in his jeans, matching his own growing erection. MacCready grasped at Deacon by his hips and pulled him down from the trunk, still standing between his legs and forcing their bodies to drag against one another. He caught Deacon’s wrist and pulled his hand down, settling it against his crotch; he wore more layers than Deacon did, but the spy still groaned as he closed his fingers around MacCready’s erection. 

“Then  _shut up_  and get to work,” MacCready drawled. 

“Ooh, aren’t we super growly and bossy,” Deacon said with a flourished wink. Using his quick reflexes, he spun them around until MacCready was the one leaning against the trunk, and Deacon wasted no time in dropping to his knees before the younger man, dragging his hands down clothing-clad hips and thighs as he went. One of MacCready’s hands went immediately to Deacon’s wig, tangling his fingers in it loosely so as not to dislodge it. Deacon rubbed his cheek against the bulge in MacCready’s pants, breathing in the smell of gunpowder, musk, and sweat. He opened his mouth and tongued at his cock through the pants, and MacCready couldn’t help the sigh that left his mouth. 

“Help me with your chastity belts here, Virgin Mary,” Deacon mumbled, reaching around and fumbling with the buckles on the ammo belts around his thighs. MacCready wasted no time in abandoning Deacon’s wig and stripping the belt from his waist as quickly as he could. The ammo belts clattered to the ground and Deacon batted MacCready’s hands away from his fly and unbuttoned it himself, quickly yanking the green pants down his thighs until mercenary’s cock was exposed to the warm air around them. MacCready knew he had nothing to be ashamed of - he’d never had a complaint about his cock anyway. He was maybe a smidge longer than average and reasonably thick, and a slight downward curve that made fucking someone from behind ridiculously good for them. Still, he watched Deacon gaze at his cock with a little trepidation, still only half believing that this was even happening to begin with. The older man (oh, that was fucking  _hot_ , sleeping with an older man, a fucking  _fox_  like Deacon. Red wouldn’t believe him in his next letter) gazed at MacCready’s cock with a carefully blank face, eyes hidden behind his sunglasses, until he looked up at him with a pleased smirk.

“I’m going to suck your soul out through your dick, Mac,” he breathed reverently. Mac choked on a gasp, his hips thrusting forward involuntarily. Deacon wrapped one hand loosely around his cock and stroked down to the base, tightening his grip as he went and twisting his wrist a little. MacCready wanted to toss his head back but watching Deacon open his mouth and drag the flat of his tongue over the tip of his cock was entirely too mesmerizing. Deacon relaxed his jaw and took MacCready further into his mouth, his tongue massaging the underside of his cock as he worked him over, and Mac suddenly regretting not jerking off last night in the showers when he’d had the chance, because the way his stomach was clenching and flipping didn’t give him much confidence in lasting very long. 

The head of his cock bumped against the back of Deacon’s throat and he withdrew back up the shaft, sucking at the tip and massaging the length with his fist. MacCready groaned, one hand fisting in his duster and the other gripping the edge of the trunk. Deacon bobbed his head along Mac’s length, and MacCready felt the tip of his cock bumping against the back of Deacon’s throat each time. Another guttural noise rumbled up from his throat, and Deacon hummed around him, making his hips jerk forward again. He jolted a little when he felt Deacon’s hand close around his knuckles as they clenched at the trunk, but let the other man guide his hand to where he wanted it to be - which was apparently his throat. He gently placed Mac’s hand around his neck, resting his thumb against his trachea. Deacon rubbed gently at Mac’s fingers and then withdrew his hand, took a breath, and rocked forward on his knees.

“ _Oh, fuck_ ,” MacCready nearly shouted; he felt his cock slip down Deacon’s throat, felt his cock against his thumb  _through_  Deacon’s throat, felt it back out as Deacon pulled his head back. Deacon sunk forward again, and Mac did shout this time. Deacon’s throat was tight and warm and squeezed around him better than anything he’d ever felt. His thumb was privy to his own cock dipping down Deacon’s windpipe, every little pulse and swallow and stutter as Deacon kept working Mac’s cock deep into his throat. Deacon put his hands on Mac’s hips and MacCready nearly pulled back but for Deacon stilling himself and forcibly pulling Mac’s hips forward. MacCready’s head tipped forward, groaning low and deep as he gripped the back of Deacon’s head, not caring about the damn wig anymore, and began to thrust into the spy’s mouth.

Deacon hollowed his cheeks and sucked hard every time Mac pulled back, leaving the mercenary panting hoarsely and groaning with every thrust. He tried to moan around the cock in his mouth and only really succeeded in making exceptionally lewd choking noises, which MacCready found entirely too hot to handle. Deacon’s long fingers dug into his thin hips, guiding and encouraging MacCready to keep fucking his mouth. Mac knew he wasn’t going to last long; one particularly deep thrust had his balls clenching tightly and he lost his rhythm, choking out a strangled cry of warning. 

Deacon withdrew quickly and wasted no time wrapping his fist tight around MacCready’s cock, pumping it quickly until MacCready was shouting his release, spots dancing in his vision as he kept his eyes open to watch thick white ropes of his come splash across Deacon’s face. His seed streaked across those dark, once-spotless sunglasses, drizzled down into his open mouth, leaked across his knuckles as the last weak pulses of his orgasm emptied his balls. 

Deacon released MacCready’s cock and placed a gentle kiss against the softening head, and Mac couldn’t help but twitch against him, overstimulated and buzzing pleasantly. Deacon’s tongue darted out to lick at the come that landed near his lips and MacCready groaned at the sight, dragging a hand down his face. Deacon stood, leaning in and pressing the length of his body - and his erection - against MacCready’s body, smirking and pleased with himself. MacCready grabbed at the collar of his shirt and yanked him closer, licking at his own come on Deacon’s face before kissing him soundly, tasting his thick musk on Deacon’s tongue. He could feel the other man smirking widely into the kiss as he returned it. 

“Kinky, Mac,” Deacon murmured, his voice rough and abused from the cock he’d had in his throat just a moment before. MacCready smirked and licked at the come on the sunglasses, and Deacon’s breath hitched. “Like it.” Mac’s hands wandered down from Deacon’s chest to the hefty bulge in his jeans, cupping him firmly and kissing his way down his face. 

“I have a feeling you’ll like this, too,” he whispered, dragging against Deacon’s body like a cat as he dropped to his knees. Deacon’s fingers immediately threaded into Mac’s hair, knocking his hat off. He tilted his head back and grinned as MacCready made short work of the button on his jeans.

“God, I’ve got  _ideas_  for you.”


	2. and my heart feels like a ghost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kinktober Day 2: **Ass Worship** | Begging | Medical play | Watersports

Okay, so Deacon was  _slightly_  irritated with MacCready. Was it more than slightly? Possibly. Was he ready to shove him into a wall to wipe that smug look off his stupid face? Absolutely.

Right, it also wasn’t irritation. It was desperation. Horniness. Lust. Pent up sexual frustration.

In short, Deacon was dying.

It really wasn’t even his own fault, honest. It was one hundred percent MacCready, his  _ass_ , and those god awful green pants he wore that clung to said ass like they’d been poured on him. His perfect, bubbly little ass was probably the reason why he wore such a long duster all the time, which was just fine in Deacon’s book. The more he saw of it, the more he wanted it. Wanted to kiss it, finger it, fuck it, bite it, bury his face in it and recite Oscar Wilde into it.

Which is what he would be doing, if they weren’t with Fixer and Danse in the ass end of nowhere, pretending that they weren’t fucking each others brains out in their down time. He was almost positive Fixer knew, because of  _course_  she knew - but also because she’d cornered MacCready last week and the young merc was many things, but resistant to Fixer’s badgering he was not. If the sheepish look Mac had given him had anything to do with the lewd one Fixer had shot his way at dinner that night, then MacCready had cracked like glass. Danse, of course, seemed completely oblivious with anything that wasn’t power armour or laser rifles, and so when Fixer was scouting ahead, Deacon could sneak a hand up Mac’s shirt or pin him against a tree for a quick grind. 

It was the middle of summer, and the Commonwealth was obnoxiously warm; even Deacon’s t-shirt and jeans were nigh uncomfortable, so it was unsurprising and definitely a happy, momentous occasion when MacCready shed his duster and the green shirt beneath it, leaving him in just a faded tank top that showed off the lean musculature of his arms and shoulders. And exposed that perfect little booty.

Deacon fell a little behind after that.

He picked up a little rock and tossed it forward, watching it bounce off Mac’s left cheek with a grin. MacCready whipped around, his face quickly turning red, one hand going to his rear to cover it like he was some blushing schoolgirl virgin. Deacon puckered his lips and made an exaggerated kissing noise at him, his grin returning when Mac rolled his eyes, but smiled as he continued walking. This time with a painfully delightful swing in his slender hips. Deacon felt his stomach clench with lust, and he knew he’d made such a terrible mistake. 

For the rest of the day, he walked behind MacCready, his eyes glued to his ass. His favourite part had been when they came across a blown out bridge and they had to cross the shallow stream and climb up the rocky embankment. MacCready wasn’t tall, but his legs were long and he climbed the rocks easily. Deacon had almost forgotten that his sweet little sticky bun of sex appeal was also a feral, cave dwelling man-child who was very good at keeping his balance while climbing. How silly of him. Mac’s ass hastily reminded him of this as his legs stretched and the muscles of his ass and thighs bunched as he hauled himself up over rocks and fallen trees. Deacon nearly didn’t make it to the top, because he was positive that his swollen dick was going to weigh him down like an anchor. 

Despite Mac’s best efforts at ending Deacon’s life via his derrière, they reached Hangman’s Alley by nightfall. The settlement was still sparsely populated, but Fixer had gutted and redesigned the whole place nearly two months ago, and it had seen an uptick in inhabitants since then. It also helped that she’d set up Mercer Safehouse there, a little ways up from the main alley. Fixer and Danse were speaking with a few of the settlers, including the young man she’d left in charge of the place, and MacCready was very inappropriately bending over to examine the most boring looking water pump Deacon had ever seen. 

“Hey  _Fix_ ,” Deacon called loudly, startling her a little and earning a scowl from Danse. “I’m gonna go check out that one building. Make sure it’s up to code and all that.” Fixer waved him away impatiently, distractedly.

“Take Mac with you, there’s no defenses up that way yet and I don’t want to scrape you out of the cracks in the pavement later,” she told him. Deacon grinned, grabbing at MacCready’s arm and tugging him along as the younger man squawked in protest.

“Great idea Fixer, Mac-attack will keep me super duper safe, okay, see ya later, bye!” he called, tossing a wave over his shoulder with his free hand and booking it out of there. Huffing slightly, MacCready jogged up to Deacon’s side, and Deacon dropped his arm, casting him a heated sidelong glance. The door to the safehouse was just a little ways out of Fixer’s line of sight, and Deacon unlocked it with a complicated looking key he’d kept in his pocket, gesturing for MacCready to go inside. Mac walked past him, sending him a sultry, narrow glance out of the corner of his eyes. Deacon stepped in behind him as close as he could, slamming the door shut and plunging them into near total darkness, as he and Fixer had patched up the holes and crumbling roof earlier in the week. His hand swiped at the switch beside the door and then he groped at MacCready’s sinfully pert ass, sighing as happily as if he’d applied ice to a burn. He pressed his chest hard to MacCready’s back and grabbed two fistfuls of ass, gleefully nibbling at his neck. MacCready’s left hand came up and reached back, cupping behind Deacon’s head as he pressed back into him. 

“I’m an old man, yanno. You can’t just wave that ass in my face all day and expect any sort of impulse control,” Deacon chastised.

“Since you’re so old, shouldn’t you have plenty of experience in patience?” MacCready asked, and Deacon could hear the smile in his voice. Deacon barely repressed a smile of his own, nipping his way down Mac’s shoulder. 

“No, it means I’m tired of you frustratingly attractive whippersnappers running rough-shod over me.” MacCready snorted.

“What’cha gonna do about it, old man?” He ground his hips back into Deacon’s hands, who groaned and squeezed onto his ass tighter. Deacon didn’t answer right away; his hands left Mac’s ass and moved to his belt, nimbly unbuckling it before moving onto the ammo straps. He’d had a little practice in getting them off now, and they fell to the floor with a clatter within a moment. He hooked his fingers into the waistband of Mac’s pants and gave them a tug, popping the button off as they were yanked down his hips. Mac made a noise of disapproval just as Deacon groaned happily as Mac’s ass was bared before him. He dropped to his knees and squeezed the flesh roughly, making him hum contentedly.

“Gonna find the goddamn promised land,” Deacon mumbled, leaning in to kiss one cheek reverently. MacCready gasped as his words, his hips thrusting forward. Deacon knew Mac’s cock was probably already rock solid, had probably started hardening the moment Deacon grabbed his hand to lead him away from the others. Deacon grasped one firm cheek in each hand and spread them, his own cock twitching at the sight of MacCready’s dark little furrow. It twitched in arousal, beckoning a tongue or fingers or both to fill it and make the sniper howl. 

“D-Deacon,” MacCready breathed. Deacon glanced up and nearly lost his breath; MacCready had twisted his head around and was staring over his shoulder down at Deacon, his pupils blown wide with lust. Deacon felt a coil of desire crack like a whip in his abdomen and he let out a shaky breath across Mac’s ass. 

“On your knees,” he instructed, his voice rough with need. MacCready fell to his knees harshly, propping himself up on his hands and pressing his ass back shamelessly, already breathing hard. Deacon licked his lips and grinned to himself, his palms massaging each cheek. MacCready smelled like sweat and musk and gunpowder, and Deacon didn’t want to think about just how lightheaded and aroused it made him feel. No, what he  _wanted_  to feel was MacCready’s hole against his tongue. He leaned in and pressed the tip of his tongue to the little pit, holding Mac’s hips steady as the mercenary nearly jolted forward and out of reach with a gasp.

“Easy, babe,” Deacon murmured, hot breath ghosting across Mac’s hole and making it twitch and quiver. He leaned back in and circled the ring of muscle with the tip of his tongue, adding and reducing pressure with every other pass. His hands caressed each cheek, kneading and scratching and digging in. He had to resist the urge to bury his face into a cheek to nip and kiss at it, but the noises MacCready was making was enough to keep him riveted where he was. He sealed his lips around the hole and slowly worked the tip of his tongue just inside, and MacCready keened loudly, pressing back against Deacon’s face. Deacon closed his eyes and groaned, working his tongue in further and pulsing it against the tight muscle. MacCready tasted dark and musky but Deacon didn’t think -

No, not going there.

It was just good, okay? Probably tastier than any of the pre-war treats Fixer whined about missing. Who needed a cheesecake anyway? That sounded pretty sour, actually, so he’d take MacCready’s perfectly round little ass  _any_  day. 

Every day.

Still not going there.

Deacon groaned again, working his hands around Mac’s thighs and pulling him closer to his face. His sunglasses dug into his nose but he didn’t care, he just wanted his tongue as far into MacCready’s asshole as possible, wanted to keep hearing those breathy noises until they became groans and shouts and  _cries_  of his name. 

Saliva dripped down from Mac’s hole, sliding down his tense balls and nearly falling to the floor but for Deacon’s fingers catching it. He put his fingers in his mouth, sliding them under his tongue a little awkwardly, but not willing to stop what he was doing to MacCready.

“Deacon, m-more,” MacCready demanded breathlessly. 

Well, when a man knows what he wants...

Deacon withdrew his tongue, rotating his jaw a little before pressing the tip of one finger against Mac’s entrance. His hips twisted a little, encouraging Deacon to press in further. 

“God,  _yes_ ,” MacCready moaned, and Deacon heard the distinct scratch of fingernails against old wood. He pressed his finger forward and MacCready’s hole accepted it easily, greedily, drawing the digit in and squeezing around it so perfectly that Deacon had to close his eyes and rest his forehead against MacCready’s plush ass. 

“Gonna build a statue outside Sanctuary,” Deacon murmured, beginning to thrust his finger in and out. “Just your ass, so everyone can see how fucking great it is without  _actually_  looking at it.” MacCready huffed a laugh, sounding breathless and keyed up. Deacon  _liked_  that sound, liked it so much he had to nip at one cheek just to distract himself. He rotated his finger and pressed against the ring of muscle until it felt loose enough to add a second finger. He worked two into the sniper, and MacCready shuddered around him, thrusting his hips backward. Deacon looked down between Mac’s legs, pleased with the little puddle of pre-come that had leaked from his dick and gathered on the floor. 

He worked at MacCready’s hole with two fingers until he was urging for more, and then a third slipped in easily. MacCready’s voice was a litany of deep groans and heavy panting and it just didn’t stop. Deacon talked a lot during sex, or tried to, but Mac was just  _noise_ , deep and loud and sexy and he drove Deacon wild. The younger man said he hadn’t had much experience beyond a quick fuck against a building since long before he came to the Commonwealth, but the guy moved like a natural. Knew just how to rotate his hips, knew how to snap his whole body against Deacon, knew how to suck a cock like a high cap professional. RJ MacCready was probably the -

No _oope_.

“Fuck, harder,” MacCready demanded in a huff, driving his hips back onto Deacon’s fingers. Deacon’s cock pulsed as MacCready’s back curved into the thrust, and god _damn_  he wanted nothing more than to sink into that perfect ass, plant his hands on that smooth tan skin just above his tailbone, and fuck him stupid.

“How about some treasure hunting instead?” Deacon suggested smoothly, grinning. “How about finding the pot of gold at the end of your meaty rainbow?” He adopted a really terrible version of Cait’s thick accent, and MacCready barked a laugh that quickly turned into a shout when all three of Deacon’s fingers brushed against his prostate. “Yahtzee!” MacCready groaned at him, but Deacon could just tell when it devolved into the primal sort of groan instead of the mortally disappointed kind. He could tell because the muscles of Mac’s hole clenched down on him as he began to drill his fingers against the younger man’s prostate. He leaned down and licked around Mac’s hole again, letting his saliva drip around his thrusting fingers. It wasn’t prime lubricant, but Deacon would rather let a Deathclaw play tug of war with his dick than remove his fingers from Mac’s ass to rummage through one of their packs. He could feel MacCready’s prostate with every assault of his fingers, a tight little bundle of nerves that probably had a purpose that didn’t involve explosive orgasms and shouty snipers, but the latter was  _much_  more fun. 

“God, Deacon,  _touch me_ ,” MacCready urged, thrusting his hips back onto Deacon’s fingers. Deacon hummed, twisting his hand and shoving them back against Mac’s prostate with a filthy, squelchy noise.

“Mmm, I don’t think so,” he said thoughtfully. MacCready made a noise that sounded like a garbled snarl of lusty fury, and Deacon made a mental note to get him to make that sound again, because it was sinfully hot. “I think you’re going to come just like this, fucking my fingers.” Mac groaned but pushed back on Deacon’s fingers.

“Then put your caps where your mouth is and -  _ah!_ \- fucking make me,” the younger man snarled. Deacon clicked his tongue.

“Language, baby,” he chastised teasingly. MacCready groaned and shoved back again, hard enough to nearly dislodge Deacon’s fingers. Deacon readjusted his position on his knees and licked more saliva onto MacCready’s hole before placing his free hand on Mac’s lower back and thrusting his fingers in, hard. He set a punishing pace, driving his fingers against Mac’s prostate with every thrust. The force behind each impact had MacCready’s ass shaking, little ripples in the plush flesh that left Deacon feeling lightheaded just watching those pert cheeks jiggle. MacCready’s panting ramped up, punctuated by every jolt forward from the force of Deacon’s fingers.

“ _There_ ,” he gasped, and Deacon obliged, drilling his fingers against Mac’s prostate. He added a fourth finger, more saliva, and picked up the pace again. MacCready groaned, his arms shaking, his ass shaking and jiggling tantalizingly, and Deacon suspected heavily that this is what heaven would look like, if it existed for people like him. Fuck it, he’d take a life filled with this any day; Mac was here, on his hands and knees in this dirty little safehouse. Not in heaven, not in anyone else. Here in the Commonwealth, getting seriously railed by Deacon’s fingers. 

“Fuck!” MacCready yelled, and that was all the warning Deacon got before Mac’s hole clenched around his fingers hard enough to probably sever them, his back curling beautifully as thick jets of white shot from his cock and splattered to the floor below him. Deacon fucked him through it, gently stroking his prostate and stretching his fingers as MacCready shook and moaned around him. Little gasps left him as the prostate massage caused more semen to leak from his cock, dribbling down to the dirty wood floor. Deacon eased off his prostate, giving it one last loving caress before he withdrew his fingers and wiped them on his jeans. He leaned in and pressed a kiss against MacCready’s flushed and gaping hole, causing the younger man to jolt forward in surprise. There was a battered couch a few feet to their left, but Deacon didn’t think Mac would be able to stand just yet, if the violent trembling in his legs was any indication. He looped an arm around his waist and tugged him up and then back, pulling him into his lap. 

MacCready glanced up at Deacon, a flush on his face, but Deacon spared his dignity by pawing through his own pack for a clean-ish cloth. MacCready took it when he had the chance, and Deacon raised his eyebrows. So much for romance. 

“I might set up a different safehouse somewhere else, and just not tell Fixer,” Deacon mused. MacCready glanced up at him, one questioning eyebrow raised.

“Is this place not good enough?” he asked.

“I kind of just want to keep it for our own personal sex dungeon in the middle of Boston, keep the stains on the floor as our trophies, hang up pictures of your ass everywh- OW.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lmao i'm so far behind i hate having a job and a gym membership and a life. I DIDNT ASK FOR THESE THINGS.
> 
> just casually writing filthy smut at work, nbd. thank god my desk is in a corner, none must know what i'm doing on my breaks.


	3. i need to feel something

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kinktober Day 3: Sensory Deprivation | Temperature Play | Edgeplay | **Knife Play**

Deacon had never in his life met anyone, including Fixer, who was as armed to their teeth as MacCready was. He knew because he’d stripped him bare enough times, having to stop and double check to make sure he wasn’t going to be stabbed in the thigh or some other super important place by a hidden knife or chainsaw or whatever else Mac had smuggled onto his person. 

Deacon was, in fact, stripping him down right now. The cap with the bullets in it had gone first, followed by the belts of ammunition for a gun he didn’t carry around his thighs. A drop point blade in one boot and a combat knife in the other. A mean looking holdout pistol in a holster on his left hip and a literal string of grenades on his right. Ammunition in every fuckin’ pocket. A needlepoint knife hidden up one sleeve. Honestly, Deacon wouldn’t have been surprised if he didn’t have a brace on his back for swords or something. He didn’t, Deacon was relieved, but he lost five caps to his own bet. This wasn’t including the rifle he kept strapped to his back

When he yanked on MacCready’s pants and they snagged on something, he glanced up at the merc sharply, who just grinned a little and shrugged ruefully. Deacon dislodged his pants from yet another holster and withdrew a wicked looking bowie knife, sharpened to a vicious point and cleaned to a shine. He unstrapped the sheath from around his thigh and pulled the knife out, holding it up to the light that trickled in from one of Goodneighbour’s streetlamps. 

“You like keeping giant sharp knives next to your branch and berries?” Deacon asked, arching one eyebrow. MacCready shivered a little, eyeing the knife. Deacon cocked his head a little, staring into Mac’s blue, blue eyes. Trust was visible, and he was grateful for it. Arousal, of course, and even a whisper of fear threaded into it.

_Oh_. 

“You  _really_  like it, don’t you?” he murmured, leaning in to lick up the side of MacCready’s neck. He didn’t have to look to know that MacCready’s eyes rolled back as his head thumped against the wall. His legs shifted to accommodate Deacon’s body, wrapping one long leg around one of Deacon’s. Strong hands grasped at the spy’s hips, digging in through the thin shirt he wore. Deacon slotted their hips together, their erections grinding together. Slowly, he brought up the hand that held the knife and set the flat of the cool blade against MacCready’s pectoral muscle. MacCready gasped, his fingers rushing up Deacon’s back. Deacon leaned back down to Mac’s neck, licking at his pulse point, which had quickened. 

“Oh, you’re  _dirty_ , Mac,” Deacon purred, nibbling at his neck as he pressed the blade more firmly against the other man’s chest. MacCready moaned, his hips twitching. He drew it down, letting the tip scrape gently enough across his skin so as not to cut him. MacCready whined then, and Deacon’s eyebrows rose, a smirk broadening across his face. “You like this a  _whole lot,_ don’t you, babe?”

“God, yes,” MacCready moaned, digging his short nails into Deacon’s back. Deacon drew the knife along his stomach, watching the muscles jump and bunch at the still-cool metal. 

“How long have you known about this fun, naughty little interest of yours?” he asked, his voice low and sultry. He dragged the knife up to Mac’s nipple and pressed the other, cooler side of the blade against the little bud, making MacCready thrash beneath him.

“Just now!” he gasped. Deacon grinned, infinitely pleased.

“There’s a good boy,” he murmured. He circled Mac’s nipple with the tip of the knife, gently enough to pebble it and create goosebumps all along his chest. “You have a safeword, or do you know the colours?” 

“C-colours, colours!” he exhaled. “Green, please, green.” 

Deacon tilted the blade onto its edge and applied nearly no pressure, just enough to scrape at Mac’s beautiful tanned skin. He wasn’t sure when this cranky little caveman found the time to go out tanning, but his skin was evenly bronzed and fucking delicious looking, and Deacon felt a sudden urge to mark it up. He bent his head and kissed Mac’s collarbone, nibbling and sucking at it until the skin purpled. He placed the tip of the knife at the bottom of the hickey and dragged in down toward his navel, leaving a thin white line in its wake. He circled his navel, scratching the edge of the knife over it at a perpendicular angle, scraping against the wispy dark hairs there. MacCready moaned, his hips stuttering against Deacon’s. 

With his free hand, Deacon cupped at MacCready’s cock, hard and leaking profusely. MacCready cried out and thrust into his hand, and as he did so, the knife slipped, neatly slicing open the skin below his navel. Deacon jerked back, appalled that he’d hurt the younger man, but Mac only moaned louder, his cock pulsing in Deacon’s hand. Deacon looked down at the new wound - it was a thin red line, not even wide enough to bleed. 

“RJ, I’m -” Before he could even murmur an apology, MacCready’s hand shot out and grabbed Deacon’s, the one that held the knife. His head rotated back down and he fixed the spy with a remarkably clear gaze.

“If you apologize for that, I’m going to hit you,” he said evenly, if a little breathless. Deacon’s eyes widened behind his sunglasses, and he let MacCready guide the knife back to his stomach. He leaned in, his breath hot and wet in Deacon’s ear, and curled his tongue around the earlobe, making Deacon shudder. “No scars.”

Deacon felt winded. Ooh  _lawd_ , his boy was one filthy bastard, wasn’t he? He was suddenly painfully aware of just how goddamn arousing this all was, because his cock pulsed and dug into the zipper of his jeans. He had a sudden image of sinking into MacCready from behind, drawing that knife down his back as he bottomed out, and - and -

“Fucking... fuck, Mac,” he hissed, applying light pressure with the knife again and slowly opening the skin above his navel this time. MacCready’s hips jerked forward and he cried out, his cock pulsing threateningly in Deacon’s hand, leaking hot pre-come across pale knuckles. Deacon’s grip on his cock tightened involuntarily and his breath left him as he watched MacCready’s hand released his, those long fingers trembling as he grasped at the wall behind him. 

“Real - oh, fuck,” Mac stuttered, “eloquent.” Deacon twisted his wrist and tugged on Mac’s cock as he re-positioned the blade between his pecs and drew it downward. The skin parted easily beneath the edge of the knife and the smallest trickle of blood left the wound. MacCready keened, whined, panted and writhed between Deacon and the wall, his cock leaking profusely all across Deacon’s hand. Sweat was beaded across his forehead, his mouth hung open, and his chest and stomach bled a little from the cuts Deacon had left in his wake. And MacCready was  _thriving_  on it. And Deacon? He was pretty sure no one else would ever guess Mac would have been into this but oh,  _oh_  he was grateful he’d stumbled onto this. 

The knife clattered to the floor and Deacon leaned down to brush his lips against the cut down his chest, blood smearing across his lips. He inhaled, and it was tangy and sharp. He licked the flat of his tongue up the cut and MacCready groaned, one hand flying to grip the back of Deacon’s neck. Deacon adjusted his grip on Mac’s cock and began to pump it hard and fast, lubricated by the frankly obscene amount of pre-come he’d been leaking this whole time. Deacon kissed back up his chest until he reached his neck, biting down and suckling hard as he fisted Mac’s dick and began to grind frantically against the merc’s strong thigh. 

“De -  _oh!”_ MacCready shouted, and Deacon felt that gorgeous cock swell in his hand and then hot seed shot from the tip between his fingers, thick and white and honestly, kind of fucking delicious looking. He spared a glance down at MacCready’s chest and saw fresh blood leaking from the wound on his chest, felt his cock twitch in his fist, heard Mac’s lingering gasps and groans as his dick pulsed, emptying his balls, and it was just -

“Shit,” Deacon muttered, humping against MacCready’s thigh and spilling himself into his jeans. His ears were ringing and his knees felt like jellied meat, but he gasped against Mac’s neck as his orgasm rushed through him, babbling nonsense words that may have once been curses, but who could really be bothered with syllables right now? 

He slumped against MacCready, breathing heavily and staining his shirt with the other man’s blood. One of Mac’s arms came up and scratched idly at the back of his head, and Deacon could have purred. 

“You want a stimpak?” he murmured, licking at one of the bruises he’d left on Mac’s neck. MacCready huffed a laugh.

“Nah, I think I need to leave them there for a while, so I can figure out why this is such a - a thing for me,” he muttered. Deacon grinned.

“I could probably tell you it has something to do with all the non-consensual pain a post apocalyptic world inflicts on us on a daily basis and that you had control over this, but -”

“You just did.”

“Oh. Oops.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well uh. maybe i shouldn't have written that at my desk at work, mac's not the only one surprised he's as into it as he is. 
> 
> oops. - me, probably


End file.
